


Up and Out

by Cesare



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Emetophilia, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, Kinks, M/M, Sickfic, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cesare/pseuds/Cesare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a SGA_kinkmeme <a href="http://sga-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3973.html?thread=215685#cmt215685">prompt</a>: "John/Rodney, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emetophilia">emetophilia</a>. They're on a boat somewhere offworld, and Rodney gets seasick; while helping him, John discovers that it turns him on."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up and Out

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Graphic descriptions of physical illness and vomiting. One person hides the fact that he's aroused by another's distress.

It's never been a problem before, but then, typically their spacefaring adventures don't involve a lot of boat travel. John really should've seen this coming. Rodney's always hated water. John just thought it had more to do with a drowning phobia than seasickness.

He's had plenty of opportunity to witness motion sickness, piloting evac choppers in combat, but he's never seen someone literally look green before. There's a real froggish tinge to Rodney's face right now.

The weird thing is, it looks kind of... good.

John feels awful as soon as he thinks it. He's come to appreciate how Rodney looks, the whole total Rodneyness of him, how his virtues and flaws dovetail to create this strangely appealing whole. But appreciating him under these circumstances is pretty odd.

And Rodney's really suffering, not just mouthing his usual attention-seeking complaints. He's clinging to the rail and moaning, quietly, miserably.

Usually Rodney's prickly and forbidding, and John doesn't feel like he can give much more than a pat or a smack without earning himself a poisonous glare. But Rodney's more touchable like this; Teyla and Ronon have both cruised by and gripped his shoulders. Teyla stroked his hair and Rodney didn't say a word, just shut his eyes and looked grateful.

Neither of them are touchy people, but John tells himself it's almost weirder _not_ to at least try to help ground Rodney with a friendly hand on his back. He steps a little closer and rests his palm between Rodney's shoulderblades.

"Never again," Rodney mutters, fists on the rail, mouth pressed to his fingers.

"Not without Dramamine," John says, and moves his hand in a slow circle on Rodney's back. He can feel the tense quivering muscles, the shiver running over Rodney's skin. "Keep your eyes on the horizon."

"I _am,"_ says Rodney, and shuts his mouth tight. The boat rocks, a rhythm John finds lulling and enjoyable, but Rodney shakes with nausea.

Ronon comes back and looks at Rodney with amused pity. "Cook said ice might help," and he gives a few hunks of ice wrapped in a rag to John.

"How's it going in there," John asks.

"Easy," Ronon shrugs. The captain of the ship wanted some quick and dirty hand-to-hand training for his sailors in exchange for passage. John knows from experience that Teyla and Ronon can drill basic self-defense reflexes into a green scientist in maybe 40 hours altogether of intensive training. These sailors are already physically fit as hell. John wouldn't want to go up against them after Teyla and Ronon are done with them.

"Are we almost there?" Rodney's voice is thready.

John and Ronon exchange looks. They're not even halfway. "Hey, buddy," John says, "they sent up some ice, might help. Maybe against the back of your neck?"

Rodney sort of gurgles, clinging even tighter to the railing.

"Uh, I'll just hold it for you and you can tell me if it's helping, okay?" John puts the ice to Rodney's nape and rubs his back soothingly with the other hand.

"You should just puke it out," Ronon advises pragmatically. "You'll feel better."

"Hypoglycemia," Rodney gasps. "I _can't_ go twelve hours on an empty stomach."

"Would it really be worse than this?" Ronon points out.

Rodney groans again.

Shaking his head, Ronon squeezes Rodney's shoulder and heads back below.

"I probably would feel better," Rodney admits, low and strained. "Just get it out and then... have some sugar water or something to keep from having an episode."

"We can do that," John encourages, and then wonders why he's advocating this. Or not so much why that-- he trusts Ronon's judgment, if Ronon thinks it'll help, it'll probably help-- but why there's a tightening in his own gut, almost a feeling of anticipation.

"Academic at this point," Rodney says, laboring over every word. "I can feel I'm gonna have to-- you should," he tries to wave John off.

"It's okay," John says. He puts the ice aside for now and steps closer behind Rodney, bracing a hip behind him, one hand still petting his back. "I've got you."

Rodney leans way out over the railing, holding on white-knuckled, and just pants raggedly, shoulders heaving, while expectant stillness tightens in John.

He recognizes it now, the feeling he gets when he's doing something that isn't sexual but still arouses him, even sometimes enough to make him hard: flying, often; surfing, a few times, and climbing.

All the tension in Rodney locks and his shoulders work, spasms wringing him as he finally opens his mouth and spews out the rice-like sweetened grain porridge they all ate right before the journey. John catches the sour smell of it for a long moment, almost disgusted, almost, but not; he suddenly remembers how disgusting he thought semen tasted, the first time he sucked cock.

No surprise he's thinking of sex, even while Rodney spits and makes little near-sobs, his breath catching again and again, still sick. John's hard, a low ache, a familiar sensation, the deep arousal that promises the best orgasms.

He's really glad he's just got the point of one hip against Rodney, that the ridge in his BDUs is angled away from him. This would be a little tough to explain. He doesn't even know-- it's the vulnerability, the trust of Rodney trembling under his hand, the analog to sex, tension building to a wracking climactic ejaculation. But it's not just that, it's not just how it evokes other things. It's _this._

John's never been the guy who held somebody's hair back for them when they were sick, or maybe he would've known before now that there's something about this exact thing that gets to him.

Rodney makes a strangled noise and looses another thinner stream of vomit that streaks down the side of the ship. He coughs and spits a few times and John fumbles his canteen from his side, presses it into Rodney's hand and wraps an arm around his waist to support him while Rodney takes the container and swills water around his mouth, spits that over the side too.

"You're okay," John says. Rodney's pale, but his mouth's red, cheeks pink, tears in his eyes-- the tears make John's situation suddenly urgent, and he has to fight it down when all he really wants is to grab Rodney's hips and rub off against his ass _right now,_ before Rodney pulls himself together and cleans up: John wants to come while those tears are still spilling from Rodney's eyes.

But he holds back, he does the right thing, rips off part of the rag around the ice and lets Rodney wipe his mouth with it, gives him the ice to hold against his beautifully flushed face.

Rodney sniffles. "I do feel better," he says, relieved. Turns out there _can_ be more of a test of John's willpower, because Rodney still tearstained and nearly smiling... it's really almost too much for him.

John figures he can keep rubbing Rodney's back for at least a couple of minutes more, and he's not ready to back away from the railing and risk someone seeing the hard-on pushing against his fly, so he sticks close and glides his palm in slow circles, over and over.

To his surprise, Rodney even slumps against him a little, until somehow it seems natural and comfortable for John to slip his arm around Rodney's shoulder and hold him steady, or maybe just hold him.

"That was nice of you," Rodney says, with a faint note of surprise. "I mean... the canteen and the cloth and the ice and... everything. Thanks."

"Sure," says John. "What're friends for."


End file.
